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Dirt Rag Articles
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Back in the late 1980's someone or something turned me on to reggae and Bob Marley. I immediately became infatuated with the music, the life of Bob Marley, the lure of Jamaica and the rituals of Rastafari. So much, in fact, that I had planned...more liked dreamt...of graduating high school and taking a long vacation to Jamaica with my graduation money. My idealistic plan called for me to arrive in Kingston with a return-trip plane ticket and enough money to last two weeks. I would then find a job and housing and stay as long as I was able, staying far away from anything "touristy."
Well my youthful idealism was quickly replaced when my graduation funds ran dry after a drunken week in Ocean City, Maryland that summer and a car accident a week before I left for college. Any dreams of setting foot on Jamaican soil were relegated to sitting in my dorm room listening to Uprising.
When Dirt Rag first attended the Jamaican Mountain Bike Festival a few years ago, my dormant dreams of a Jamaican pilgrimage...now with bicycles...awoke. Though I was not able to attend that first trip, I started plotting my arrival. Yet amazingly enough, even after booking my tickets, it took me a few days to realize that I would indeed be landing in Montego Bay, Jamaica on what would have been Bob Marley's 57th birthday. Wow.
After touching down, we gathered our gear, a few Red Stripes, and loaded into a van with Lars Tribus, Jay Dallegro and their respective girlfriends, Christine and Susan, for a two hour thrill ride to Rusty's house in Negril where we would join in the festivities of the 5th Annual Jamaican Fat Tire Festival.
I was here. Finally.
After assembling our bikes and just generally taking in the Jamaican atmosphere for a few hours, we headed down to Rexy's. That's the roadside watering hole where Don Hampton and his band of professional cyclists were set up to do a bicycle stunt demo for the neighborhood. With cameras rolling, chicken cooking and music thumping—as it did everywhere in Negril—these guys put on quite a show.
Before I knew it, the hundred or so children that had gathered were flying around doing wheelies, jumps, nose manuals on our bikes. There is nothing like seeing a barefoot 10 year old Jamaican boy doing a 200 yard wheelie on Kyle Ebbett's downhill rig. The kid was literally hanging vertically from the bars. The act of the village kids taking our bikes continued throughout the week.
Thursday morning, we had the great fortune of being told to go to the Just Natural Café for breakfast. The sweet fruit juice, the fresh omelets, the fantastic service and the outside tables established Just Natural as our breakfast destination every morning we were on the island.
The Great House, which is actually the stone ruins of a burned out mansion about ten miles outside of town, was the site for the downhill race on Thursday. I'm not a racer to begin with, but the four foot drop-off to start the downhill course solidified my decision not to even attempt to ride the course. The fact that Jay Dallegro shattered his heel on his second run, made my decision to just enjoy the Jerk Chicken and Red Stripe that much easier. Fearing no evil, Shaums March easily won the downhill competition.
The rest of Thursday, as was most of our free time throughout the week, was spent eating, riding in and around Negril, cliff jumping, partying, playing dominos and just generally sitting around the house talking. Besides the festival events, there was no real urgent or pressured need to get anywhere for any specific time. Oddly enough, this relaxed attitude took a day for me to get used to, but it sure was nice once I understood that I could do what I wanted, when I wanted.
The pros and film crew were scheduled to do a quick demo for a school on Friday, but there were no other scheduled festival events that day. Again we spent the day, swimming, exploring, eating and taking in as much of Negril as we possibly could. A fantastic chicken dinner was prepared for us back at the house that evening by Hermine Hayles and Jubie. The meal was so good, in fact, that Browne fell off the meat wagon for the first time in two years just to sample the jerk and fried chicken.
Once we were finished making complete gluttons out of ourselves, we headed back into town to Pee Wee's Birthday Party. Nothing a honeymooning tourist would ever go near, this annual birthday party is thrown in celebration of a local personality and bar owner, named Pee Wee, who had passed away several years ago. Many locals and visitors celebrate the life of Pee Wee with dancing, drinks and music.
Lots of music. Count Lebbe, and his band were the entertainment for the evening. Their potent and minimalist mix of rock-steady, calypso and 1950's rock was almost hypnotic. A few of us left an hour or so into their set, but reports came back the next morning that the band played for about three more hours and had most people at the party dancing ‘till they could barely stand anymore.
Saturday morning, and the cross-country race, came quickly. Back near the Great House again, the cross country race course wound its way through the woods, farms and Rastafarian camps outside of town. I had pre-ridden the course on Thursday and was quite pleased with the adventure and terrain Rusty had plotted out for the race.
With the usual throng of local children, villagers, racers and festival attendees in tow, the XC race started about noon. Browne and Jeff G opted to take part in the Sport class race while I chose to stay in the shade and enjoy my water. Filled with both locals, Canadians and Americans, the field was nearly thirty deep. After three laps in the baking sun, Browne finished second.
Then it was time for Zerial "Zero" Hayles (Hermine's son), the young local bicycle hero and Olympic hopeful, to thoroughly slam everyone in the Expert class. For five laps, Zero as he is more commonly known, pretty much schooled the competition while barely breaking a sweat. Finishing first assured Zeril the coveted spot of Jamaican National Mountain Bike Champion and a solid chance of making the 2004 Summer Games in Athens. Keep an eye on this kid.
Sadly enough, Sunday came quickly and it was time to pack up and go. Time didn't allow us to attend the road race event of the Festival, and once our bikes were boxed and our smelly clothes were stuffed into our bags, it was time for the nine-hour thrill-ride home.
Rusty's Excellent Adventures, as well as the whole town of Negril and the Jamaican Mountain Bike Association, sure know how to put on an event. Next time I go, I'm going to be sure to arrange my work schedule so I could spend at least another week exploring the singletrack and taking in more of the Irie vibes running through the island.
When you go, and you really must, make sure you spend at least a week, fly down on AirJamaica, sleep under the stars at least one night (there are really no bugs to worry about this time of year), ride your bike as much as you can (it's actually the only form of tansportation you'll want to use), book a bicycle tour with Rusty, have a Red Stripe at the LTU Pub & Villas (who were nice enough to house the Helmet Design Contest winners), go cliff jumping and bring back some rum. —Jeff Lockwood
Look for more Jamaican Fat Tire Festival coverage in Dirt Rag #92 (Available 4.1.2002)
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